Sophie assumed Ivy had a pretty good idea.

  “I hope she doesn’t … think ill of me.”

  Before Sophie could reassure her, the phone on the end table began to ring.

  “Will you excuse me for a moment?” asked Betty, picking it up. “Hello?” she said, patting her dog’s head absently as she listened. “Oh, hello, Ivy! Yes … yes, I recognize your voice. This is a surprise. When? Why, yes. That would be lovely. Seven o’clock.” She paused. “Oh, I’m sure I could get one of my grandsons to bring me.” Another pause. “I see. What was that name again?” She listened more carefully, closing her eyes. “I have it. Dr. Steinhardt. Yes, I remember him. He was the man you were with at the lawyer’s office. Well, that would be wonderful if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” She nodded. “Good, then I’ll look forward to it. Thank you for the invitation. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.” She placed the receiver back on the hook.

  “I take it you’re being invited to dinner.”

  Betty nodded, looking a bit perplexed. “I never expected something like that.”

  For a fleeting second, Sophie had the urge to tell her not to go.

  “You know,” said Betty, “for a woman who’s spent so many years living alone, ignored for the most part by the rest of the world, this is all beginning to feel like,

  well, like an adventure.” She winked, her eyes taking on a mischievous twinkle.

  Sophie couldn’t help but laugh. She was beginning to get an idea why Hale had loved this woman so much.

  “I wonder why that Dr. Steinhardt is with Ivy all the time. He came to the reading of the will on Wednesday, and he’s picking me up tomorrow night. I hope she isn’t sick.”

  “I hope so, too,” said Sophie. At Hale’s funeral, Ivy had looked remarkably well. Better than she’d looked in years. None of this was adding up. Perhaps it was time to pay Ivy a visit. Since Sophie didn’t have to be to the office until after lunch, and Ivy’s home was only a few blocks away, now was the perfect opportunity. “Well,” she said, with one last glance at the paintings, “this has been enlightening. You saw a part of Hale he rarely showed to the world.”

  “I know,” said Betty, her voice once again sad. “He was a complex man. I may not have understood him, but I loved him. And for me, that was enough.”

  33

  “Sophie!” said Ivy, a look of surprise on her face as she opened the front door. She glanced a bit anxiously over her shoulder. “How … nice to see you.” Her smile was something less than sincere.

  “May I come in?” asked Sophie, wondering at Ivy’s hesitation. “If this is a bad time —”

  “No.” She said the word much too quickly. “Of course not. I was just … I mean …” Again, she attempted a smile. “Please.” She held the door open wide. “Actually, there’s someone here I’d like you to meet.”

  Sophie had a good idea who that might be. She stepped into the foyer and waited while Ivy closed and locked the door behind them. Then she followed her back to the atrium. The glass-enclosed space contained at least twenty huge cactus plants in bright Mexican pots. Near the rear of the room, a man was standing with his back to her. He was reading a newspaper, one hand massaging the back of his neck. As they entered, he turned. His hair was gray, his face angular. He wasn’t exactly handsome, though the quality of health he projected was very attractive. He had on a suit, but had taken off the jacket and rolled up the cuffs of his tight blue, Oxford cloth shirt.

  “Sophie,” said Ivy, “I’d like you to meet Dr. Max Steinhardt.”

  Max moved toward her, his hand extended. “Very nice to meet you,” he said, his voice full of enthusiasm.

  For some reason, Sophie felt as if she were being ushered into The Price Is Right. Max had the distinct air of a game show host.

  “Ivy’s told me a bit about you and your husband,” he continued, pumping her arm. “And of course, I’ve been reading your restaurant reviews in the Times Register for as long as you’ve been writing them. Very commendable job. Very commendable, indeed. And even though I rarely get time to listen to morning radio, I’ve also enjoyed your husband’s show on occasion.”

  “Thanks,” said Sophie, glancing at their locked hands.

  Instantly, he let go.

  “Max has been a friend as well as my personal physician for several years,” said Ivy, as if answering an unasked question. “Since Hale’s death, he’s been a dear. I’m afraid he comes whenever I call.”

  Really? thought Sophie. That was a good friend. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Tired,” said Ivy, “though Max says that’s to be expected.”

  “A death in the family isn’t the easiest of times,” he replied, giving Sophie a doctorly frown. He folded the paper and sat down on the white wicker sofa.

  Sophie made herself comfortable in one of the matching wicker chairs. So much for introductions.

  “To what do we owe this unexpected visit?” asked Ivy. She slid down next to him, making sure their bodies weren’t too close. But close enough.

  No matter. Sophie had already caught the scent. The vibes were unmistakable. Ivy and Max were lovers. This put everything in a very different light. She wondered how long the affair had been going on — and if Hale had known. “Well,” she began, “I was visiting someone else in your neighborhood.” She paused for effect. “Betty Malmquist.”

  First Ivy responded. “Betty Malmquist, you say?”

  Next Max. “How interesting.”

  Again, Ivy. “I suppose you’ve . .. heard about, well, about what Hale did? Leaving his entire estate to her?”

  Max patted Ivy’s hand. “Wills can be broken. Don’t worry.”

  Sophie wondered if the faint sound she was hearing was teeth grinding.

  “So,” said Ivy, her voice taking on a fake lightness, “how is Betty?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “Have you known each other long?” asked Max.

  “No. We’d never met before today.”

  “Really?” He glanced questioningly at Ivy. “Was it … a social call then?”

  “I suppose you could say that. I don’t know if you two are aware of this, but die police seem to think my son had something to do with Hale’s murder. I’m positive that’s not the case, but since I’m not entirely impressed with the direction of their investigation, I’ve decided to do a bit of checking on my own.”

  “You think Betty had something to do with Hale’s death?” asked Max.

  “No, of course not. But I’ve been trying to talk with people who knew Hale. I thought I might get a better idea of who might want to … see him harmed.”

  “Have you found out anything?” asked Ivy. This time, her manner seemed more sincere. She sat forward, waiting for a response.

  “I have some ideas,” said Sophie, “but I’m not sure where they lead.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, for one thing, I was talking with Ben Kiran the other evening. He was at the party the night Hale died. It seems he first met Hale — as well as you, Ivy — at a summer camp many years ago. It was the same summer a boy disappeared. Eric Hauley. Do you remember him?”

  The corners of Ivy’s mouth turned down. “Why … yes. A very sad time. Why do you bring it up?”

  “Hale received a note at the party from a man named Ezmer Hawks.”

  “The artist?”

  Sophie nodded. “It directed him to call the police and confess to something he’d done — something in his past. Hawks was at the party that night, Ivy. And the note was a clear threat.”

  “You think he killed my husband?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “But … how did you know about the note?”

  “I found it by the back door of your house. The police have it now.”

  Her eyes flicked to Max. “What’s this got to do with Camp Bright Water?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “I —” She pulled nervously on her pearl necklace. “I can’t imagine.”

  Sophie was sure Ivy knew more than she was letting on. “Perhaps I should tell you that Mr. Hawks has been sending some of his new work to the Chappeldine Gallery. Hale had stopped by to see it several times. One of the drawings is a sphinx with fire between its paws. A boy’s face appears in the fire.”

  Ivy’s entire body stiffened. “A … sphinx you say?”

  “Sounds like a load of nonsense to me,” muttered Max. “Don’t worry. The police will make sense of it — if there’s any sense to be made.”

  Sophie kept her eyes on Ivy. “The note also contained part of a nursery rhyme. ‘For every evil under the sun — ’“

  Ivy’s hand flew to her mouth.

  Max put his arm around her, patting her shoulder. “Sophie, I think this is too upsetting right now. Perhaps we could change the subject.”

  “Of course.”

  “No, I’m fine,” said Ivy, brushing a tentative hand over her face. “Really.”

  “What else did you and Betty talk about?” asked Max, resuming a more casual tone.

  “Well, did you know Hale was saving up presents to give to Betty? He’d been storing them in a shopping bag.”

  Ivy and Max exchanged glances.

  “What’s your point?” asked Max, a bit of the warmth leaving his voice.

  “After Betty received them, she noticed that at the bottom of the sack was a small brown box. It wasn’t wrapped like the rest. Inside she found rifle shells, Lasix, and arsenic.”

  Ivy sat up very straight. “I don’t understand.”

  “Betty doesn’t, either,” said Sophie.

  As if picking up a cue, Max said, “The police were right! They thought Hale was responsible for those attempts on Ivy’s life. As far as I’m concerned, we now have proof!”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Sophie, sensing she was about to make an enemy of the good doctor. “I mean, just think about it. Why would he hide incriminating evidence in a sack and then give it away? And why would he save it in the first place?”

  “How should I know?” barked Max.

  Ivy took hold of his hand. “If Hale wasn’t responsible, then who was?”

  Sophie shook her head. “It would have to be someone with access to your house.”

  “Like?”

  “Well, I don’t want to accuse anyone, but what about Charles Squire?”

  Ivy’s expression turned hard. “That little rodent used to come and go in here as if he owned the place. Well, he doesn’t! It’s the one thing he couldn’t get his sticky little fingers on. I’m evicting him and IAI from the gate house at the end of the month.”

  So much for a synopsis of her feelings toward Charles, thought Sophie. “Do you know where Hale was storing the shopping bag before he gave it to Betty?”

  Ivy shrugged. “No idea. I never saw it.”

  “This is pointless,” said Max. “You’re both ignoring the obvious. Betty must simply turn this evidence over to the police and let them take it from there. Don’t you see, Ivy? This could be the lever we’ve been looking for to break that will!”

  Their eyes locked. When Ivy returned her gaze to Sophie, something had changed. Ivy now seemed ill at ease. She fidgeted with her watch and the buttons on her blouse. Max had silenced her. Why? “I think Max’s right,” said Ivy. “Let’s let the police handle it. I just want this to be over.”

  “That’s the point,” said Sophie. “I think we’re all overlooking something vitally important. It may not be over. Your life may still be in danger. There were three methods of murder found in that box, Ivy. Only two attempts were made on your life. If Hale wasn’t responsible, then that means another attempt may be made.”

  A muscle in Ivy’s face twitched.

  Max seemed annoyed that his opinion was being challenged. “But if it was Hale, as I maintain this evidence proves beyond the shadow of a doubt, then you have nothing to worry about. Besides, I’m not going to let anyone poison you.” His disgust at such an idea bordered on the heroic.

  “I don’t like any of this,” mumbled Ivy.

  “Well, like it or not,” said Max coldly, “those are the cards we’ve been dealt and we have to play them.”

  It felt almost as if he were blaming her for something. There were emotions at work here Sophie knew nothing about. Max was being entirely too controlling, and Ivy just seemed lost.

  “Has that woman informed the police about what she found?” asked Max.

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Then it’s fortunate you invited her to dinner tomorrow night,” he said, turning again to Ivy. “We’ll have to insist she do so. Immediately.”

  Ivy nodded.

  “Well,” said Sophie, realizing the conversation was going nowhere — and wasn’t going to go anywhere with Max calling all the shots — “I suppose I better hit the road. That magazine I work for doesn’t run itself.”

  “Of course,” said Ivy. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  “It was nice meeting you,” said Sophie, standing and smiting down at Max. It was an effort.

  “Same here.” He didn’t stand. “Perhaps we’ll run into each other again.”

  Right. You in a minivan and me in a cement truck. “I’m sure we will.” She followed Ivy out of the room.

  As they got to the door, Ivy turned and whispered, “Max doesn’t understand my … fears sometimes. I know he’s trying to be helpful, but I am concerned about the arsenic, Sophie. Very concerned.”

  The vehemence in her voice caught Sophie off-guard. She decided to ask a leading question. “Do you think Hale tried to murder you?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, that’s simple. He had someone else. You didn’t have to live with him, Sophie, but he was cruel. And he was never home. He was gone almost every weekend and lots of evenings each week. I never knew where to reach him. I’m sure he had more than one woman on the side, but he must have found somebody he wanted to marry. He knew I’d fight him on the divorce. Tie him up for years.”

  “I’m … not so sure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sophie didn’t know if she could tell Ivy about what she’d found at Betty’s house. Yet, as his wife, didn’t she have a right to know? “Hale spent most of his free time at Betty Malmquist’s home. He’d rented a room there.”

  “He what?”

  “He used the space as a studio — for his painting. Betty has hundreds of canvases he’s worked on over the years. I’m sure she’d let you see them.”

  Ivy was almost speechless. “I don’t believe you!”

  “Go see for yourself.” She watched as the ramifications of her words slowly sunk in. “If he didn’t have another woman, Ivy, why would he want you out of the way so badly that he’d try to murder you?”

  “He was sleeping around. I know he was! He hated me! He knew I saw right through him — saw him for the phony he was.”

  “Ivy,” called Max from the other room, “is that woman gone yet?”

  “Yes,” she shouted back. “She’s just leaving.” She held the door open.

  “Are you all right?” asked Sophie. Ivy looked terrible. Her face had lost all its color and her hands were shaking.

  “I’m fine. Just fine. Give my love to Bram.”

  “I will.”

  “And Sophie? Forget what I said about the arsenic. It’s not important. Just chalk it up to the stress I’ve been under lately. Everything’s under control now. I’ve got nothing to worry about. Nothing in the world.”

  “Right,” said Sophie as the door was slammed in her face.

  34

  “Arsenic,” whispered Sophie as she bent over the reference book on her desk. It was late. Nearly nine-thirty. Most everyone had left the magazine offices hours ago. Around six, she’d phoned Bram and told him she needed to work late. He’d be on his own for dinner. She suggested he finish the cold pizza in the fridge, or, if he was feeling particularly brave, he could always whip up another batch of hummus. After sputtering for a good minute and a half about how his culinary talents were not being appreciated, he said he had to go. The beef Wellington he’d prepared for dinner was done and he had to take it out of the oven before it burned. He announced that he was going to invite their neighbor, the one who looked like Ingrid Bergman, to eat with him. After all, she’d been a costar of his years ago. They had a lot of catching up to do. After wishing her a positively swell evening, he hung up.

  A little after nine, she finally put the project she’d been working on all afternoon to bed. As she stepped into the meeting room, the only place where the coffeepot was still on, she picked up the book she’d asked her secretary to find for her earlier in the day. Classic Poisons, by Arnold Pirn Monroe. Pouring herself another cup of sludge, she returned to her desk. Arsenic was so important it had its own chapter. She sipped as she read:

  Arsenic is a metal which cannot be broken down further into other chemicals. Since it is found in the manufacture of many common products, it is one of the most accessible toxins.

  Wonderful, thought Sophie. It was so nice to know all the potential poisoners out there had such an easy time of it. She continued:

  Down through history, arsenic has been the most popular of poisons. Traces of the element are found in all human tissues. In its most common form, arsenic tri-oxide, it appears as a white powder. Although generally swallowed, arsenic can also be inhaled as a dust or a gas.

  She turned the page, hoping for a few more specifics. She pressed her finger against the type and slid her hand down until she came to the heading Symptoms.

  The classic symptoms of arsenic poisoning are generally seen to be gastric in nature, although arsenic can also be carcinogenic. Misdiagnosis as gastroenteritis is common. After long periods of exposure, an individual can develop a rash, called exfoliative dermatitis. Often, in cases of immediate death, only an inflamed stomach can be determined. If death is delayed, arsenic will appear in the kidneys and the liver. Death occurs generally after bouts of dizziness, headaches, vomiting, diarrhea, and an inability to void. There may even be periods of paralysis. Convulsions and coma generally come toward the end, with death a result of circulatory failure.